The Ferryman - Book 1

Chapter 56:

The Other Horse

Moth road Aggo easily through the dense tunnel of trees. The morning mist still haunted the ivy, soaking Aggo’s fetlocks, and rattling cold droplets off their leaves in a sound like rain.

Moments before, Moth felt calm– but that was with Correb. Now, alone in the forest, she remembered vividly encountering the welkworm, how it had breathed with difficulty through a borrowed face, and watched her behind the pines.

Agate had chosen for her a chatelaine – one of the items attached to it was a tin dagger. Moth clutched the handle to reassure herself, her eyes searching the broad and still forest. Each pitter-patter of the droplets sounded like someone approaching, and Moth remembered that she never asked Correb whether the violent soul of Juho’s father – Aberand – had ever been found.

But as she went, and as the forest got deeper and darker, she saw nothing frightening in the trees. Magpies happily flittered from tree to tree, observing her progress, and Aggo was unbothered by any noises or smells.

Besides the magpies, Moth realized she had never seen other birds in the forest. She had never seen any wild animals at all – she’d only ever seen bugs.

Ladybugs trickled gently across branches, dragonflies hovered over streamlets, moths and butterflies rustled overhead in the leaves. Spiders made their

webs in the hollows of logs, filling their larders with flies and crickets. The forest hummed with the active bug life.

Moth untensed, but she kept her hand on the knife.

On horseback, it was not long before they plodded through the ivy pathway, reachin the signpost on the crossroads.

The signpost was barricaded in plantlife. Moth rode up to it and cut off tendrils until she could read the old sign that told her the road on her right – East – was the Tural Tie.

Moth urged Aggo down through the dense tunnel of arching branches and climbing ivy.

It was that same swan ivy from Adavidan, serving as a small protection against the soulless creatures of the woods – but after a quarter mile, Moth noticed another plant mixed in with the ivy. A horrible bramble, with talon-like thorns, grew densely on the edges of the ivy road, creating an impenetrable thicket between some of the trees, walling-in sections of the forest.

Soon, the forest canopy thinned, and the overcast light of the marches came through in dusty shafts. There were far fewer trees, which would’ve made the forest more spacious except for the brambles that now filled the gaps. Still, the ground of the forest still had pathways of ivy, and Moth didn’t have to worry for Aggo’s hocks getting cut up.

There was no signs, outposts, or landmarks Moth could immediately see; she pulled out her map and nervously looked for her place on it.

The crossroad signpost was prominently marked on it, and Moth knew where she was at once, but she squinted at the red lines that tangled like roots across the paper, repeatedly looking up at the forest to understand where it was trying to lead her.

She soon understood the ivy served as path markers. She followed it further into the forest, and it began to thin and lead like steppingstones into different directions through that quiet and empty place.

She saw already on her map many pathways that led into her world. She looked up, expecting to see a house or something similar, but saw an oak tree – it had a door set deep in the bark.

But it was completely wrapped in the brambles. The thorns had imbedded themselves into the door. No way through the door – either out or in.

The brambles reminded Moth of the irritable, never-blooming roses that lived in the greenhouse. They must also have been gifts from the ferrymaid, Davida.

Moth, though fascinated by the sealed door, continued down the ivy paths, squinting at the map to find her way. The forest looked frustratingly similar, with no obvious landmarks to guide her.

If she didn’t pay close attention to where she was going, she wouldn’t understand which path they rode down; tense with focus, she followed the third path she came across, tracing her finger carefully along the map as she went. The next fork she ignored, until the second one where she took a left, and it trailed sharply down and away from the flat top of the mountain.

The path was steeper now. Aggo tugged through the ivy, ripping tendrils as he went. He tripped over a hidden, broken carriage lantern, and whinnied.

A whinny answered him through the forest.

Moth, finger pressed firmly to her place on the map, looked up.

It was the other horse.

The one who had pulled from her grip and ran when the welkworm had appeared. Moth could see it between the trees, anxiously standing at a distance, its glossy black and white spots catching the light. The poor horse whinnied again.

Aggo’s ears whipped forward – he attempted to step towards his old companion, but Moth tugged his reins to keep him firmly on the ivy.

Moth waved to the horse. “Come here!” she called, though she didn’t like the sound of her voice echoing in the woods. She gestured encouragingly at it – Oliver would be happy to see it returned safely. She didn’t think Correb would mind her returning it to the mansion and then resuming her journey.

The gelding whickered and approached nervously, almost hiding behind the trees until it was certain she was safe. Moth saw it had burs and thorny twigs tangled in it tail, and so much in its mane that its head was dropped low under the discomfort of it.

“Come on,” said Moth soothingly. She reached out a hand, and the horse took the final steps out from the trees towards her and lifted its head.

Moth jerked her hand away.

Something was wrong with the horse.

There was a slick, thick drool that matted his fur down from his muzzle down to its neck. A stench like pond scum wafted off the horse – but Moth only noticed its eyes.

They had become swollen – or damaged – in some manner. They pushed up on newly grown flesh and had begun to look forward like a dog.

“Oh god,” Moth whispered.

The horse shook its mane and whinnied.

Once again, Aggo tried to step off the ivy to join it, but Moth grasped his reins and tugged him back into place, her heart pounding. The other horse would not step onto the ivy.

Moth hastily searched the map. She was only two paths away from the exit. Swallowing, she tapped Aggo to start moving and rode him slowly, carefully down the ivy.

The other horse followed.

It walked slowly, carefully, alongside the ivy – it never touched a tendril, kept its distance, but kept pace with Moth. It occasionally turned its head to look forward at her. Its pupils were round, like a human.

Moth took steadying breaths, her eyes darting between the horse, the ivy road, and her map.

Where am I? she thought, nervously, trailing her finger on the map. There should be a split.

She came across a split, but it branched off into three ways, not two. The horse whickered and Aggo tried to leave the path again; Moth snatched at the reins and kept moving.

I…I jumped ahead, here I am now. She found herself on the map, where it split off into three, and took the rightmost path. This still allowed the other horse to follow, step for step, alongside her.

The ivy led to an oak tree. The tree was massive. It twisted itself over with many sprawling roots and branches to form a circle nine feet high. The ivy ended abruptly at the threshold of this circle.

On the trunk of the tree hung a sign, half consumed by the bark. It had a silhouette of a hand holding up four fingers, and it said:

Monuksi Steep

The horse whickered, and Aggo turned to move.

Moth goaded Aggo away and down the ivy, feeling the breath of the other horse at her elbow, and rode through the circle.